


Old Friends Long Forgot

by cordeliadelayne



Category: Primeval
Genre: Antagonism, Disability, Hand Jobs, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Physical Disability, Sex, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:34:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28196997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: Ryan doesn't want any help. Ryan doesn't need any help.
Relationships: Tom Ryan/Captain Wilder
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Old Friends Long Forgot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fredbassett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/gifts).



> Written as a Christmas present for the lovely fredbassett who gave the prompt “an invalided Ryan down on his luck”.

“You look like shit.”

Ryan looked up from his full English as Captain Wilder sat down in the chair opposite. His favourite greasy spoon was down a back alley near the British Museum and he definitely hadn't told Wilder where to find him. In fact, he hadn't spoken to Wilder in going on four years.

“You look like a civil servant.”

Wilder laughed and unbuttoned his jacket, draping it on the chair behind him. “Needs must,” he replied. “So, what's good?”

He picked up a plastic menu stained with dried egg and baked bean sauce and appeared to be giving it serious study. Ryan knew better. What he was really doing was giving Ryan the once over, checking for broken bones, black eyes and protruding bits of shrapnel.

Ryan was well aware that he looked like death warmed up, not helped by an unruly beard he'd given up trying to tame some weeks ago. His clothes seemed to hang off him more than usual which was why he'd opted for a big breakfast that would keep him going into late in the evening. But mostly he was just tired. Tired of getting up in the morning and tired of pretending that everything was all right.

“What do you want?” he asked, as Wilder gave his order to the pretty waitress who always gave Ryan extra helpings of fried bread.

“You look like a man in need of some help.”

“I didn't ask for it. How did you even find me?”

Wilder smiled. “Jenny Lewis. She was worried about you, so I tracked your mobile.”

Ryan felt a few sparks of anger that retreated just as quickly as he decided he didn't have the energy to be angry.

“She shouldn't have bothered.”

“They all feel guilty,” Wilder said, helping himself to half of one of Ryan's sausages. He bit into it with relish and dipped it in some of the sauce from Ryan's baked beans, licking at his fingers when he was finished.

Ryan picked up his tea and concentrated on that instead of remembering the time, years ago when they'd both been in Sandhurst, that Wilder had cornered him in the showers, told him to stop pussyfooting around, and fucked an eager and more than willing Ryan so hard he had ached for days.

Weeks later they'd been sent to opposite ends of the earth, Ryan was fairly sure not intentionally, and they hadn't really talked. Yet every time they found themselves nearby they'd found a convenient toilet stall, shower, even memorably an abandoned chicken coop once, and Ryan would eagerly suck him off and let Wilder leave as many bruises on his hips as he wanted. But never in a bed. Somehow that had always seemed a step too far.

“They're civilians,” Ryan said. “They did their best.”

He tried not to think of the horror of the future predator barrelling into him, the tearing of flesh and breaking of bones that followed. Counselling was all well and good for some people, but it wasn't for him, even if he had gone, dutifully, like a good little soldier boy twice a week for six months before giving it up as a bad lot.

He could feel Wilder staring at him openly now and settled back to finishing his breakfast, focusing on the eggs that were always so perfectly runny that he'd often considered congratulating the chef on a job well done.

“You met up with Stephen a couple of times, I gather.”

Ryan flinched. Stephen had been the most persistent, and the last time they'd met Ryan had said some things that he didn't think he could take back. He'd only heard second hand about the fall out at the anomaly, about Helen Cutter's revelations, but that hadn't stopped him from throwing them back in Stephen's face.

“He's taken a sabbatical,” Wilder continued. “New Zealand.”

Ryan nodded to acknowledge that he'd heard. It only occurred to him now that Stephen had never once talked about his own evident problems, his only concern had been that Ryan was getting the support he needed. And Ryan had probably made everything ten times worse for the younger man.

He pushed himself away from the table and stood up. He didn't need this, thinking about other people. That's not what he did any more.

He started to move away to the door, wincing as he jarred his prosthetic leg and biting back a curse. He could feel Wilder's eyes on him, quietly assessing, and it made his skin crawl.

“You want a job?” Wilder asked.

“Fuck off,” Ryan replied, before opening the door and walking out into the street.

He managed to get halfway down Great Russell Street when Wilder nonchalantly sidled up to him.

“You look even more like shit now.”

“I told you to -”

“Yeah, I heard. Where are you going?”

Ryan remained silent, just trying to focus on putting one damaged foot in front of another.

“Oh, so, back to the British Museum where you've been picking up the odd bit of work putting your military expertise to use.”

Ryan came to a painful stop, and the woman pulling two children along with her had to step into the road to avoid barrelling into him, something she made it very clear with gestures that she wasn't happy about.

“What are you doing?” Ryan asked. “Why are you checking up on me?”

“I told you -”

“I don't need any help!” he shouted.

Wilder simply raised an eyebrow while an awful lot of people decided to cross the road to get away from him.

Ryan took a deep breath and found himself rubbing subconsciously at his chest where the scars had yet to fully heal. Wilder's expression of faint interest didn't change which probably did more to wear Ryan down than he would ever admit.

“You're coming back to mine,” Wilder said, raising his hand for a taxi and pushing Ryan into it before he could work out how to make his legs take him elsewhere.

“This is kidnapping. You're making this taxi driver an accessory,” Ryan said, loudly.

Wilder snorted. “He does as he's told and doesn't ask questions.”

Ryan glared at Wilder and then took a proper look at the taxi. Although it looked like every other black cab in the city there were no signs about non-smoking, no lectures to wear your seatbelt and most importantly no driver ID or fare countdown.

“You're a fucking piece of work,” Ryan said, trying the door and finding it securely locked.

Wilder just smiled. “It doesn't bother me, you know.”

“The swearing?”

“The leg. I'd still fuck you until you forgot your own name.”

There was a soft exhalation of surprise from the driver but Ryan refused to rise to the bait, even as he felt his cock twitch. He hadn't given much thought to sex since his return from the Permian and it was still hard to look at his prosthesis with anything but practical efficiency.

“Not if you were the last man on earth.”

Wilder just laughed and Ryan knew he'd taken too long to answer. But he didn't care. He definitely wasn't interested.

* * * * *

Ryan cursed into Wilder's mouth but found himself groaning as the other man's talented fingers finally got his trousers down and wrapped themselves around his leaking cock. It had taken ten minutes to get to Wilder's flat and less than five for Ryan to find himself eagerly pushed up against the kitchen wall and then hefted easily onto the kitchen counter before he'd even had chance to complain about the ache in his leg.

It didn't take long for Ryan to shatter under Wilder's touch, his body bucking up as violent shudders ran through him. He was disgusted with himself but also grateful that his first orgasm post surgery was over and done with and left him feeling suitably spent and mellow.

Wilder moved away and out of the room and as Ryan was starting to fill with regret once more Wilder threw a damp wash cloth at him.

“Bathroom's on the right,” he said, disappearing into another room entirely.

Ryan huffed a laugh at himself, shaking his head. He cleaned himself up and then hobbled awkwardly to the bathroom where he tried to make himself look more presentable. Wilder had been right with his original assessment, he did look like shit. Scraggly beard and hair that hadn't seen a decent barber in all too long, sunken eyes. He looked exactly who he was, like someone who'd given up.

* * * * *

Ryan helped himself to a shower and a razor and tidied himself up. When he was dressed again he felt a little more like his old self. And he absolutely hated that was probably what Wilder had intended since the beginning; the man was a calculating bastard.

When he walked back into the kitchen Wilder was pulling a pizza and a tray of chips out of the oven. He plated them up without saying a word and passed a plate to Ryan who reluctantly took it and started to eat.

“Clean looks good on you,” Wilder said, snorting a laugh as Ryan gave him the finger.

They ate in somewhat companionable silence while Ryan waited expectantly for the other shoe to drop.

* * * * *

When it came it was with a job offer. Wilder laid out the documents on the kitchen table and started talking about a woman called Christine Johnson and her plans for a future where the ARC became public. Ryan listened, because it seemed the polite thing to do and he owed him one, however much it stung to admit it. And he told Wider that he would take everything on board and think about it and he declined the use of Wilder's personal driver and said he'd be fine on the Tube.

And the minute he was sure he was out of earshot and that his phone wasn't being tapped, he called James Lester and told him he was ready to get back to work.


End file.
